


The Plot Bunny

by azriona



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1208362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azriona/pseuds/azriona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a plot bunny loose in 221B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Plot Bunny

**Author's Note:**

  * For [canolacrush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/canolacrush/gifts).



> I’ve been sitting on this for about a month now. It’s from a Tumblr post in which I asked for cheerful prompts, because I was having serious writer’s block following S3. [canolacrush](canolacrush.tumblr.com) asked for a bunny following Sherlock home. I don’t know how the bunny found Sherlock, but here’s the aftermath. 
> 
> Many thanks to earlgreytea68, who puts up with way more drama from my end than anyone who isn’t married to me deserves to receive. And still writes me [awesome figure skating AUs](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1185555). Also thanks to kizzia , who definitely puts up with her share of drama from my quarter, and confirmed that no one understood the admittedly bad [pregnant bunny joke](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rabbit_test). Which I then left in, BECAUSE I STILL THINK IT’S FUNNY, and maybe one of you will get it.

It probably wouldn’t have bothered John all that much, except it happened the week after the elephant. 

“Sherlock,” said John, looking at the small cat carrier on the kitchen table. “There’s a rabbit in this carrier.” 

“Thank you, John, I can always count on you to state the obvious,” said Sherlock from his table in the sitting room, without taking his eyes away from his microscope. 

“ _Why_ is there a rabbit in a cat carrier on your kitchen table?” 

“Because if I let it _out_ of the cat carrier, then it would be able to roam free throughout the flat. Think about these things, John.” 

John sighed and went into his Typical Exasperated John Pose Complete With Eye-Rubbing. Sherlock paused to appreciate the pose before going back to his microscope. 

“Why is there a rabbit in the flat at all?” 

“Thank-you present,” said Sherlock briefly. “Remember Kirsty?” 

It took John a moment, and then he stared at the rabbit with a certain sense of horror. “You’re not actually going to tell me…” 

“Oh, goodness, no. The rabbit is as unluminescent as they come.” 

“Well, that’s a relief.” 

John had started the electric kettle and was nearly done preparing the tea mugs when Sherlock spoke again. 

“It’s a plot bunny.” 

_Crash._

“Tell me you dropped the one Mycroft left here,” called Sherlock. 

“A _plot_ bunny? A _plot_ bunny, Sherlock?” John stormed out of the kitchen and into the sitting room again. “What do you mean, a _plot_ bunny?” 

“You’re making tea.” 

“I was, and then you started telling tales about plot bunnies.” 

“You were standing next to the bunny, and now you are making tea. You hadn’t intended to stay very long when you came in, and yet you are now making tea. Ergo, furthering your plot within the story, merely by standing near the bunny in question.” 

John stared at him. “All right, hand them over.” 

“Hand what over?” 

“The _drugs_ , Sherlock, because clearly you’re on them.” 

“John—” 

“You can’t honestly tell me that the bunny in the cat carrier is going to somehow influence everything we do for the sake of providing a _plot_ , are you?” 

“Of course I am. It’s a _plot bunny_. That’s what they do.” 

John shook his head and went back into the kitchen, returning after a few minutes with the tea. “Prove it.” 

“Apart from the tea?” asked Sherlock, picking up his mug. 

John settled on his chair, legs crossed. “Mmm-hmm.” 

Sherlock thought for a moment, and then leaning back, let out a bellow. 

“ _Mrs Hudson_!” 

* 

Mrs Hudson eyed the boys suspiciously. “You want me to walk into the kitchen, circle the table, and tell you the first thing that pops into my head?” 

“Yes, if you would be so kind, and do it quickly,” said Sherlock. 

Mrs Hudson shook her head. “Honestly, boys, I really have no idea…” 

But she did it, talking to herself the entire time, and when she came around into the sitting room again, both John and Sherlock heard what she was saying, clear as a bell: “…as if I would ever consent to dancing with nipple pasties _again_.” 

John’s mouth dropped open in shock. Mrs Hudson froze on the spot. Sherlock drank his tea. 

“That was the doorbell,” said Mrs Hudson. 

“No, it wasn’t,” said John, eyes still wide. 

“Yes, it was,” said Mrs Hudson, and fled. 

“Believe me yet?” asked Sherlock. 

“That wasn’t furthering the plot, Sherlock. That was providing information which I’m already planning on scrubbing from my brain with copper wool.” 

Sherlock broke into a wide smile. “John! You’ve learned how to delete!” 

John reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile. He pressed a few numbers and waited for the call to connect. 

“Hi, Molly,” he said. “Mind stopping by Baker Street for a mo?” 

* 

“I thought he’d want them,” explained Molly as John held the door for her. “They’re not heavy, just a bit tall; I can’t really see where I’m going with them.” 

The bags were large; probably larger than Molly herself, but she didn’t seem to need any help as she navigated from the door into the kitchen, where she dropped the bags on the counter near the fridge. 

“I’ll just pop them in, shall I?” she said cheerfully. 

“Yes, sorry, what are they?” asked John. 

“Feet,” said Molly cheerfully. “And a few hands mixed in, they go with the feet, you see. Same persons. I didn’t want to separate them out.” 

“Ah,” said John, a bit faintly. 

“I asked Tom if he wanted them, but of course not. He’s not a bit like Sherlock. Much better kisser.” 

Molly turned beet red. 

“Not that I’d know if Sherlock was a good kisser,” she added hastily. “Anderson didn’t have that part right _at all_.” 

“He didn’t?” echoed John, confused. 

“Well, you’d know better than I would, John,” said Molly. 

“I would?” asked John. 

“I’ll just be going now!” said Molly, quite high-pitched, and fled. 

“John, I think you might be right,” said Sherlock thoughtfully. “It’s really more of an _Exposition Bunny_ , than a proper Plot Bunny.” 

John stared at Sherlock. 

“Why would I know if you’re a good kisser?” asked John. 

Sherlock waited exactly two eyeblinks before he hopped out of the chair. 

“Let’s look at the feet,” he said cheerfully, and dove into the fridge. 

* 

_Mary, still at Sherlock’s. Come by when your shift is up. John_

_Of course. Solve the case? Mary_

_Yes. Yes, we did. Absolutely. Case solved. How much longer? John_

_Twenty minutes. Sherlock okay? Mary_

_HE’S FINE. I’M FINE. WE’RE ALL FINE. PLEASE HURRY. John_

* 

“Boys?” called out Mary, knocking on the door. “You in?” 

There was a scrambling sort of noise, followed by a crash, followed by two heads popping out from the kitchen. 

“Oh,” said John brightly. “Hello.” 

“Hi,” said Mary, amused. She unwound the scarf from her neck. “Your texts were increasingly frantic; is everything all right?” 

“Just fine,” said John as Sherlock’s head disappeared again. “We’re…fine. All fine. Everything’s fine. Do you have a fire extinguisher handy?” 

“No,” said Mary. “Do you want me to go downstairs and ask Mrs Hudson?” 

“Yes, please!” shouted Sherlock. 

“No!” said John. “Ah. Do you know how to catch a rabbit?” 

Mary stared at him. “A rabbit.” 

“A bunny, actually,” said Sherlock. “And we don’t need to catch it. We just need to smoke it out.” 

“Ah,” said Mary, in the manner of someone used to humoring others. 

“It’s hiding behind the fridge,” explained Sherlock. 

“The rabbit,” said Mary. 

“Yes.” 

“Right then. I’m sorry, why is there – no, never mind. Don’t tell me.” 

“It’s a plot bunny,” said John. 

“I thought we agreed, John. _Exposition_ bunny.” 

Mary sighed. “On second thought, tell me.” 

“Things keep…happening while it’s around,” said John. 

“There are things about Lestrade that I never, ever, want to think about again,” said Sherlock solemnly. 

“People keep saying things,” added John. “And we’d really rather they…didn’t.” 

“So you want to kill the bunny?” asked Mary. 

“Nooooo,” said John, laughing in a rather high-pitched manner. 

“Yes,” said Sherlock, nodding emphatically. “You’d know best how to kill a rabbit, Mary.” 

Mary stared at Sherlock. John stared at Mary. Sherlock swallowed. 

“AS I WAS SAYING,” he said, waving his arms. “Mary wants to kill the rabbit. Because she’s very good at killing things. Also she’s pregnant.” 

“You’re _pregnant_?” asked John. 

“I’m not pregnant,” said Mary. 

“Of course you’re not,” said Sherlock. “You just want to kill a bunny.” 

“A _plot_ bunny,” amended Mary. 

“An _exposition_ bunny,” Sherlock amended. “Let’s move the fridge.” 

“You’re _pregnant_ ,” repeated John. 

“Moving a fridge now,” said Mary cheerfully. 

“Why are you pregnant?” 

“Oh, John,” sighed Sherlock. 

John turned on Sherlock. “Delete that!” 

“Love to,” said Sherlock. “After your wife has assuaged her blood-thirsty tendencies on the bunny.” 

“I’m not blood-thirsty,” said Mary, slightly high-pitched. “Nope. Not me. Never. What a silly notion.” She let out a tittering, nervous sort of laugh. 

“Of course you’re not,” said Sherlock agreeably, already crouching to move the fridge. “On the count of three. One – two – three!” 

The fridge shifted. 

_Scronch._

John was still staring at Mary. Mary was still staring at Sherlock. Sherlock was staring at the trickle of bunny blood that crept out from under the fridge. 

“I think the bunny’s dead now,” he said, a bit faintly. 

“Oh,” said John, and sat down at the kitchen table. “Well. That solves things.” 

“Best clean it up, then,” said Mary, and went to find the rubber gloves. 

Sherlock sat next to John and watched. 

“She’s rather efficient at cleaning up blood, isn’t she?” he said. 

“Yeah,” said John. “She says she’s had lots of practice.” 

“Has she now?” 

“Being a nurse, of course.” 

“Oh, of course.” 

“She’s not really…” John made a motion with his hands indicating a rather sizeable stomach. 

“That was probably just the bunny,” said Sherlock. “I don’t think she’s necessarily blood-thirsty, either.” 

“Molly wasn’t just dating a Sherlock substitute.” 

“Lestrade isn’t actually in love with my brother.” 

“Mrs Hudson was never an exotic dancer.” 

“God, no,” said Sherlock, and they both shuddered. 

“All done,” said Mary brightly, standing up. There was a small smear of bunny blood on her cheek. 

“Ah, there’s a…” John pointed to his own cheek, and Mary quickly wiped it away. 

“Oops,” she said. “All better?” 

“Yeah.” 

“So that’s a plot bunny,” said Mary thoughtfully. “Left me feeling a bit funny, hasn’t it, like I could go in a hundred different directions at once.” 

“Has it?” asked Sherlock. 

“Huh,” said John. “Me too.” 

“Such as?” asked Sherlock, glancing at him. 

“Well,” said Mary. “Threesome?” 

“All right,” said John. 

“But lock the door,” said Sherlock. “Mrs Hudson might come back.”


End file.
